Lies In Remembrance
by sonofanarchy
Summary: Haunted by his past, the Lone Wanderer retires to a life of booze. But events are being set in motion to drag him back into war. Can he find redemption, or will his worst fears about himself be realised? Mild swearing, violence. Please read and review
1. One Of Those Days

_**"Seeking to forget makes exile all the longer; the secret of redemption lies in remembrance."**_

**- Richard von Weizsaecker**

"Is he...?"

"Of course he's here," interrupted the sheriff, his dark skinned covered by his long, brown leather duster, a wide-brimmed hat covering his head. He, along with another dark skinned man in overalls, were both hunched over a large pipe, water hissing from one of the rivets. "Just like he always is..." the man added, a hint of sadness in his voice. She didn't blame him.

Sarah Lyons turned towards the all too familiar house, built from scrap metal, high up on the crater that was the town of Megaton named, creatively, for the un-exploded bomb that squatted right in the middle of the ramshackle collection of dwellings. A bomb, she'd heard, he had disarmed years ago.

He, the Lone Wanderer, Saviour of the Capitol Wasteland. Nobody had heard from him for months, not since the Enclave had finally been destroyed on their crawler at Adams Air Force Base and Project Purity, the only source of radiation free water in the area, had been restored. Normally that would have been worrying, but he had made it clear he didn't want to be disturbed when he'd left. It was a wish that, considering all he had done, everyone concerned had been willing to grant.

Sarah got to his door, feeling the rusted metal creak under her feet. The house sat unsteadily on rough metal legs, the only way to have a flat floor on the sloping crater. She knocked twice, her power armour gloved hand clanging loudly against the door.

Nobody answered.

Hesitantly she tried the door handle, found it worked and pushed it open. The stench assailed her, overwhelming her for a second. It was a stench she had smelt before, stale sweat, spilt alcohol, a touch of vomit even, the usual smells that greet you when you enter a bar. But not a home, and not this strongly.

The room was unnaturally dark, the pitiful faded fabric shades covering the lone window as best they could, but unable to hold back the sun. None of the electric lights were on either. She felt around aside the door, trying to find the switch for them.

"Don't." She jumped at the sound of the voice from the dark. It was commanding, confident, and familiar.

"Leon?" she asked, turning to where she thought he was.

She heard him clear his throat, then he stepped forward into one of the slight rays of light that made it past the curtains.

There were parts of him still there, from when she had last seen him. The rugged face, the small scar across his forehead, his black hair unkempt, his skin tanned from long days out in the harsh sun, scars criss-crossing the exposed flesh of his arms. But there was more now. An unshaved mass of hair, somewhere between stubble and a beard, covered most of the bottom half of his face. His hands, covered in his usual fingerless leather gloves, clutched a large bottle of whiskey. His clothes were ragged, uncleaned, even more so than usual. His eyes were red but, even worse, still listless, just as they had been when he'd left.

"I thought I was clear, Sarah," he growled.

"Leon...we're worried," she managed.

"I don't care," he said flatly. "Get out"

"What? You're tossing me out?"

"Yes"

"Why?"

"You know why"

Her eyes narrowed. "You've changed..."

He snorted, uncorked the bottle and took a long swig. "Figure that out on your own, did you?" he asked sarcastically after he swallowed the hard liquor.

"What happened to you?"

"Life," she heard him mutter, so softly she almost missed it.

"Leon, I've come to ask you back," she said, trying to sound as confident as possible, "The Brotherhood...it's not the same without you. We need you. _They_ need you," she added, sweeping her hand out to indicate the wasteland.

He looked at her then, fully, eye-to-eye. "That's why you came here?"

"Yes," she answered, hopeful.

"Then you wasted your time" he said, taking another mouthful of drink.

"We lost 9 men last week and 4 the week before. This fight hasn't stopped just because you did," she said, beginning to get a little irritated.

"And?"

"_And?_" she almost screamed.

"Yes, _AND!"_ he screamed back before she could get another word out, "don't you dare try and preach to me. No shit this war didn't end, that's the thing _I_ figured out; it never does. I did my part, now it's someone else's turn."  
>"You selfish prick..." she snarled coldly.<p>

"Selfish? Ha!" he snorted, "You want to know selfish? How about throwing me, alone, into Adams? How about letting my father _die_ before lifting a finger to stop the Enclave? Hmm?" he hawked and spat, "yeah, you Brotherhood fucks are real courageous when you've got 4 more of you on your back. You think you've got all the answers, sitting nice and safe in your little stronghold, going out when it damn well pleases you in squads so large no-one would mess with you anyway. Thinking you're making a difference when people barely notice you're even there. You're not better than anyone else, Sarah, none of you are. Maybe when you figure that simple fact out we can talk again. Until then...stay the fuck away from me, the lot of you."

He sighed deeply, breathing out his anger, replacing it with sadness, before continuing. "Fight, die, nothing ever changes. You want to keep up the charade, pretend like what you're doing actually matters, then go ahead. But I'm out..." he finished, striding over to a small table and leaning on it, head drooped, his back to her.

"You never came back, did you?" she asked softly, pity clear in her voice, "you're still at Adams..."

"I was gone long before that," he whispered. "Please, just...go"

She opened her mouth to speak but her heart fluttered, her stomach lurched. She had nothing left to say, there was nothing she _could_ say. She let her head drop.

"Goodbye Leon," she whispered, leaving without another word. She didn't know if he had heard. She hoped he heard, hoped that the real Leon Walker was still in there, the hero that she had known what felt like a life-time ago.

She hoped, but she didn't believe.

* * *

><p>Leon slumped into a stool at the counter of the Brass Lantern, the only restaurant in Megaton. It sat right at the bottom of the crater, only a couple of metres from the bomb itself, and, like every other building, was built from scrap metal. It was shaped like a long, awkward rectangle, with the small counter Leon now sat at jutting out of it.<p>

"What'll it be?"

Leon looked up, watching as Jenny Stahl used her hands to lean against the counter. Her dark blonde hair, as usual, was combed back, one small lock allowed to drift forwards and frame the right side of her face. She was wearing rough yellow overalls, visibly worn.

"Whiskey," Leon croaked, already a little tipsy, "and keep it coming."

She sighed, looking at him sadly, but poured him a glass of the brown liquid and simply left the bottle next to it. He reached into his pocket and tossed a handful of caps onto the counter, not bothering to count them. She started to pick out the right amount when he stopped her.

"Keep it," he said, downing his glass of whiskey in one go and reaching for the bottle, "it's not like I need it anymore"

She sighed, sadly, but took the money anyway, scooping up the bottle caps and tossing them in the cash register draw. She glanced across at him again, then moved away to stand against the wall of the main building.

He didn't care that she didn't want to be near him. He preferred it, actually. Normally he wouldn't have even been down here, at the Lantern, especially with plenty of alcohol still lying around in his pig-sty of a home.

He took a sip of the whiskey this time, letting it burn his mouth and then his throat as he swallowed it. It tasted like piss, but then, sadly, the finer points of distillation technique had failed to survive the apocalypse. He knew he had Pre-War bottles, the good stuff, up in his house so he wondered, again, why the hell he had come down here.

He knew the answer, of course. Seeing Sarah again had put a lot of things in perspective, forcing him to face a lot that he'd been ignoring, drowning, for a while now. He sighed, took another sip, managed to see his face reflected in the dark liquid.

_You were a hero_, he told it, _now what are you?_

He looked at Jenny, her furtive glances indicating how uneasy he was making her. He looked around at several others that passed by, each doing their best to avoid making eye contact. Finally he turned back and looked at the whiskey, one hand on the half full glass, the other gripped to the 3 quarter full bottle.

_A friendless drunk_, he answered, the blanket of depression settling down on him like a ton of bricks, threatening to crush him under its weight. He sighed, downed the rest of the whiskey in his glass and poured himself another.

So, it was going to be one of _those_ days.

* * *

><p>The sun was setting as Sarah made her way out of the gates of Megaton, the mismatched collection of steel sheets that formed its wall at her back. The gate's guardian, a bipedal, oval-bodied robot called a Protectron, said something resembling a farewell in its metallic voice but she ignored it.<p>

She had to be focused. Travelling the wastes at night wasn't smart and trying to get through DC was even worse. Of course, when she had left the Citadel she had planned to stay the night with Leon, regardless of whether he accepted her offer. She knew she could have changed his mind about letting her stay, at the very least.

But...the man she had seen in that house hadn't been Leon. It had looked the same, sounded the same, but it wasn't him. Not the parts that counted, anyway. She could barely think about him without her heart dropping through her stomach, let alone stay in the same house, even the same settlement, as him.

She shook her head, trying to shake the thoughts out. She didn't want to think about it so she focused on her current problem.

She scanned the horizon, the sun setting off in the distance. The rocky, barren landscape met her eyes and, off in the distance, rose the crumbling buildings of DC. She narrowed her eyes, trying to make out landmarks, but at this distance it was pointless. She knew she couldn't get back to the Citadel, or any of the other Brotherhood outposts, before dark, but maybe she could make it to one of the outlying entrances to the Metro.

The Metro, the former transportation system used before the War. Most of it was crumbled and none of the trains worked, their rusted and decaying husks a sad testament to the world that was. They were also home to some of the more horrifying creatures; Feral Ghouls often found their way down there, out of the sun, and they made good nests for Molerats especially.

Despite those dangers, however, the Metro was still the best way to effectively move around DC. The buildings above had been crumbling for hundreds of years now and the resulting rubble had turned the once perfect streets into a hellish maze, where danger more often than not lurked literally around every corner.

It wasn't an ideal place to spend the night she knew, but there were a couple of rooms there that would still be intact, that she could barricade herself in for the night before heading off in the morning...

A strange sound came from behind her. A wobbling sound, like a thin sheet of metal being shaken like a blanket. She felt something hit her in the back. It wasn't solid, more like a force, a powerful gust of wind. Chills went up her spine, her rifle fell uselessly out of her hands and she pitched forward, watching with lazy eyes as the ground rush up to meet her.

"Ha!" some shouted. Another, different person giggled, and she heard two sets of feet make their way closer to her.

"How much you think we'll get for a Brotherhood bitch?" the first voice asked.

"I don't know," exclaimed the second gleefully, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice. "The armour is worth thousands on its own!"

Sarah didn't know who they were, barely even knew who she was. Her thoughts slipped out of her mind like water flowing through her fingers. Her instincts, her training, her experience, all of it kicked in at once. She had to get up.

With a groan she pulled her arm up to her shoulder, tried to get it under her body so she could push herself back to her feet, or as far up as she could get anyway.

"Oh shit, she's still moving?" the first voice exclaimed.

"Fuck! Mez her again man," the second shouted. The wobbling sounded again, although this time it died a lot quicker than last time. "What're you waiting for?"

"It's fuckin' broke or something," the first snapped. "Just hit her with your rifle, fool."

There was a sharp crack, pain exploded in the back of Sarah's head and she slumped back to the ground. She had a few seconds to stare at the bleak ground before everything went dark.

* * *

><p>Leon awoke the next day with his brain pounding in his head, in beat with his steady , booming heart beat. With a groan he leant forward, swivelled his feet and sat on his bed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Shakily he got to his feet, half-stumbled to the fridge on the opposite side of the room and opened it.<p>

The inside was mostly empty, as usual. There was 3 day old squirrel, some 200 year old steak, a wild Punga fruit from Point Lookout and four bottles of whiskey, with a half full bottle of vodka tucked away behind them. He stuck his hand in, letting it float over the squirrel, then the steak, then, with a sigh, the whiskey. He grabbed an already open bottle and slammed the door closed, downing a long mouthful of the harsh liquid as he did. It burned his throat but took the edge off his pounding head, so it was good enough.

A loud clang snapped his head around to look at the door, so fast he heard his neck crack loudly. Groaning, one hand rubbing the back of his neck, the other still gripping the whiskey bottle, he made his way over to the door and hauled it open, annoyed at the disturbance.

He was blinded for a moment as the daylight flooded in, his eyes squinting as they adjusted. When they had he saw a full set of Power Armour staring at him.

For a moment his heart leapt into his throat, his mind projecting Sarah's face onto the body in front of him. But as he took in the mannerisms, the folded arms, the utter silence, he knew it wasn't Sarah. It was Gallows.

Knight Captain Irving Gallows, special operations for the Lyon's Pride, Sarah's unit and the elite of the Brotherhood. Gallows was the kind of person Leon liked these days; quiet, stoic, keeping to himself. He was so reclusive, in fact, Leon had never seen him without his helmet on, had rarely seen him at all if he was being honest. The man preferred to be out in the Wastes more than anyone else at the Citadel.

"What do you want?" Leon asked grumpily. Gallows stared at him for a moment, the black eyes on the Power Armour helmet looking foreign, alien, before he stuck out a hand. Leon looked down at a folded note.

Taking his hand from the back of his neck he snatched it from the man's hand and opened it. It read;

_Leon,_

_I am sorry for this. I know you requested your solitude; a request that, considering all you had done for us, was something I could not refuse. For the past few months I have honoured it, despite strong council otherwise, and you know I would not break my word without good reason._

_Unfortunately, it is this reason that has brought this letter to you. Several days ago Sarah left us to speak with you. Our sources say that she reached you, so I am sure you know this, but she has not returned. Under usual circumstances I would not be concerned, but she has made no attempts to contact us, which is highly irregular, and a pair of known slavers recently killed by our brothers were found to be in possession of an undamaged suit of power armour._

_I am afraid for my daughter, Leon. Mutant attacks have increased in recent weeks and I no longer have the manpower to search DC for her, let alone the entire Capitol Wasteland._

_You, however, have the experience and the knowledge to do what we cannot. Please, I'm begging you, find my daughter. We have all lost too much already, to lose her would be my breaking point._

_I have sent Knight Captain Gallows to aid you, if you so choose. Whatever else I can provide, you have but to ask._

_Again, I apologise for breaking my word, but I hope you can see and understand that I had no choice. It's Sarah, Leon. Save her._

_Owyn_

Leon had to read it again to make sure he wasn't going crazy.

"Is this real?" he asked Gallows. The armoured man nodded slowly. Leon's heart was pounding, his hands beginning to shake. He didn't know whether it was the hangover or something else anymore.

He turned and strode across to his desk with a purposeful walk. Taking up a small piece of charcoal he quickly scratched his reply on the back of Owyn's note;

_Owyn,_

_I'll try._

_Leon_

He walked back over to the door and handed the note to Gallows.

"Take it to Lyons," he grunted, before slamming the door shut in Gallows' face. He turned and leant against it, letting himself slide to the floor. He took another large mouthful of whiskey, let it simmer in his mouth for a few moments, burning the inside of his cheeks, singeing his taste buds, before swallowing and feeling the familiar heat travel down his body.

He wiped his hand across his mouth, wiping away the excess liquor, and found his eyes falling on the large, mouldy rug that dominated the middle of his house. He gritted his teeth as he looked at, flexed his hands as old memories of wars long since ended surged back into his mind, the liquor helping to blur the line between them and reality.

With a grunt he got to his feet and strode over to it. It was a cream colour, once, a long time ago, but was more of a puke-green now. It probably did have some puke colouring it, he thought. Grabbing the corner, he reefed it away. It thrashed through the air, hitting the wall next to his bed with a dull thump before sliding back to the floor.

He hadn't taken his eyes off the floor though, especially the trap door the removal of the rug had revealed. Reaching down, he grabbed the handle and pulled it open, the old hinges creaking, protesting their use. The area below was dark, pitch black, no light from the already dim room above reaching it. It looked like a mouth, like the maw of some infinite creature, threatening to swallow him whole...

He took another drink of the whiskey, knelt down and felt for the familiar switch just below the hatch. He found it, turned it on with a satisfying click and then took the ladder down into the room below his house.

He had built it after buying the house. It wasn't anything special; dirt walls, floor and ceiling, some scrap metal for supports. Nothing special.

Except, of course, for the racks of equipment he had stored in it. There were several metal desks, the best he could find, that had various weapons displayed across them. There were rough dummies at the far wall, formerly practice targets at the Citadel, that were wearing several suits of varying types of armour. Shelves dominated the wall to Leon's right, overflowing ammunition boxes on every one. He looked at the arsenal he had under his house, his eyes drifting almost lazily over the weapons, the armour, seeing them again bringing up even more memories from the past.

He took another swig from his bottle, picked up a pistol and looked down its sights at one of the dummies. He moved around, almost letting the pistol lead him, swaying along with its movement. He felt the familiar metal in his hand, so much more re-assuring now than it had felt months ago when he'd last touched this gun. He closed his eyes, re-acquainting himself with its weight.

He sucked in a deep breath and let it out with a slow sigh, opening his eyes as he did. He knew what he had to do.

And it was time to do it.


	2. Fallen Paradise

_**"As memory may be a paradise from which we cannot be driven, it may also be a hell from which we cannot escape."**_

**- John Lancaster Spalding**

* * *

><p><em>Leon jerked awake, his head ringing with the sound of alarms. He glanced across at the clock next to his bed; 3am. What in the hell was going on?<em>

_He swung his legs out with a groan, sat up and sighed, fighting back the urge to roll back into bed and stuff his head beneath his pillow. That seemed like the smart thing to do, anyway. It was obvious that something had just malfunctioned, probably another Radroach crawling around the water purifiers. Leon's father, James, a scientist located on the lower levels, had mentioned the maintenance guys grumbling about not being able to get the bugs for weeks. So, while they wouldn't have normally set off the alarms, who knew how deep they may have gotten._

_Leon coughed suddenly as the thought of Radroaches swimming around in his drinking water trickled its way down his throat._

_There was a sharp banging on the door. Leon's head snapped around, before his hand darted out to grab some clothes cast lazily on the floor. As quickly as he could he stuffed himself into his Vault overalls, the closest thing at hand, still dirty from his chores the day before._

_"Leon!" It was Amata, his friend since they were both little. His best friend. He had always been careful around her though, as her father was the Overseer of the entire Vault._

_Vault 101, his home. The shining walls that surrounded him every day, that met his eye even now, in his room, just radiated security, safety, a promise of a good life, a happy life._

_"Yeah," he grumbled, "give me a second!"_

_"Leon, Leon hurry!" she said. Her voice was high, her words rushed. Even if Leon hadn't know her all his life, hadn't had her personality ingrained in his brain, he would have recognized she was scared._

_With his overalls on he rushed to the door, part worried, part curious. Surely the alarms and her fear were connected, he thought._

_He pressed the button next to the door and it hissed open, the large metal plate sliding upwards and disappearing into the roof. Amata stood on the other side, her gentled bronzed skin slightly reflecting the lights in the corridor, her hair dark as night. Her lips were pursed, her eyes staring down the hall, darting to and fro._

_"What's up?" Leon asked, frowning in worry._

_"Leon, oh my god, your dad...your dad's gone," she said hurriedly._

_"What? Gone where?"_

_"He just...left. Left the Vault Leon! And my father thought...thought Jonas was involved. My god Leon...he's dead!" she was talking so fast now Leon had to struggle to keep up. Jonas, his father's dark skinned lab assistant, had always been like a second father to him._

_"Amata," he said, as confidently as he could, reaching out to grab her with both arms and pull her around so their eyes were locked. "Slow down...and tell me what happened."_

_She let out an anxious sigh, the air coming out in stutters. "Ok...ok," she started. "Your dad left and my dad thought Jonas was involved, so he had some of the security officers interrogate him and...and..." tears began welling in the corners of her eyes. Leon pulled her into a tight embrace._

_"And?" he asked, as gently as he could._

_"And he's dead and..." she snapped back, her eyes wide, like she had just remembered something she shouldn't have. "They're coming for you!"_

_"What?"_

_"They think you're involved...Leon, you've got to get out of here!"_

_"All right," he said, taking a step back, nodding. "Where are we going?"_

_"No, Leon, you've got to leave the Vault!" she exclaimed._

_He knew it was physically impossible but he still swore he felt his jaw hit the ground._

_"Leave...the Vault? Are you crazy?"_

_"You're dead if you stay here. Look, I got you this," she said, giving the corridor a quick look over before producing a pistol from under her shirt._

_"Jesus Amata! What are you doing with a gun?"_

_"Please Leon, just take it. I don't want to see you get hurt..."_

_He gulped and reached out, hesitantly. His fingers curled around the grip slowly and Amata let it go, the full weight of the pistol dropping into Leon's hand. It felt lighter than he thought. In fact, he barely felt it at all. He found he was staring at it, adoring it._

_"Leon, did you hear me?"_

_"What?" he asked, shaking his head as her voice snapped him back to reality._

_"I said," Amata started, slowly, "you need to get up to the Atrium. From there you can get up to my father's office and out to the Vault door. You get all that?"_

_"Yeah," he nodded. "Atrium, office, door. Easy."_

_"I wish I had your confidence," she muttered. "Just try not to get yourself killed, ok? I'll try and distract my father."_

_She turned and started walking away._

_"Amata!" Leon called. She turned to look at him. "Be careful."_

_"You too," she said with her dazzling smile. He couldn't help but smile back._

_She gave one last nod then disappeared around a corner. Leon flexed his fingers around the pistol, took a few deep breaths and stepped out of his room._

* * *

><p>Leon shook his head, trying to shake away the memories unsuccessfully. He didn't know why he even bothered anymore; he had been trying to get rid of them for years. How he thought shaking his head would make a difference, he didn't know.<p>

He flexed his fingers around the pair of binoculars in his hands and held them up to his eyes. The bleak landscape of the Capitol Wasteland stretched out in front of him; radiated dirt, skeletal trees, wreck and ruin of the world that had been long ago. And out in the distance squatted his target; Paradise Falls, the so-called 'slaver's stop'.

It wasn't much to look at from the mile or so Leon was away from it and, he knew from experience, was even less to look at up close. The decaying ruins of a few Pre-War houses dominated the small settlement with a few ramshackle shacks built around them for good measure. A wall crept around the entire town, built from anything and everything; scrap metal, large planks of wood, even the burnt out, rusted remains of Pre-War cars. The only distinguishing feature was the large statue of a smiling man with strange hair, red pants, a blue shirt and an ice cream cone in his one remaining hand.

He sighed and let his arms drop, the binoculars falling away from his face. Say what you want about its looks, it was still a veritable fortress. There was no way he was going to be able to shoot his way in, which meant he would have to play it the other way, the diplomatic way. Something he hadn't particularly liked _before_ he was a drunk that hated the world.

_This is going to go well_, he thought sourly and, after a moment of anger, he sighed again, remembering who he was doing it for. If it saved Sarah, he would do whatever he had to.

Paradise Falls was nothing like its name, not being a paradise in any sense of the world. It was a haven for the slavers that plagued the region. All slavers and their slaves heading through the Capitol passed through there in some capacity; whether stopping for the night, getting information about potential areas to avoid, or just paying tribute to the local 'lords'. At any time there could be people from the Pitt to the northwest, from Rich End to the south, even as far out as Sin City to the west or the Commonwealth to the northeast.

Many in the Brotherhood had called for its destruction, back when Leon was still a part of that group. Leon had been careful never to offer his opinion, however hard the others might have pressed. He knew what they wanted, _expected_, him to say, but he never could. Destroying this one town, while perhaps bringing some small peace to this chaotic world, wouldn't impact the big picture. Slavers were always going to be around; at least this way everyone knew where they were.

He got up with a grunt, stretching his legs, trying to get the blood flowing again. He stuffed the binoculars back into his well-worn pack, threw it over his shoulder and began trudging slowly towards the town in the distance.

He started thinking, trying to devise some kind of plan. He let his mind wander, as he used to do in times like this, attempting to float above his thoughts, trying to see the big picture and how to change it.

But he found he couldn't do it anymore. Instead, as his mind drifted off, it floated ever so gently into the memories he had been drowning for so many months. Times he had almost forgotten were dug up like corpses from a fresh grave. He heard a scream, knew it was only in his mind, knew what was coming next...

* * *

><p><em>Leon stepped out of his room, pistol in hand. The alarms were blaring, louder than they had been in his room. Half of the overhead lights were dimmed, replaced with the dull, rotating red ones that indicated something was wrong. They swivelled, over and over, red light being replaced by white light on the shining walls and vice versa, over and over, like some kind of titanic battle.<em>

_He was consciously aware of the pistol in his hand, of his fingers draped around the rough grip, of the weight, focused at the back. He held it by his side, unsure exactly what he was meant to do with it. He did have a BB gun, a birthday present from his father, but he guessed firing a real gun would be much different._

_He was moving slowly, each step seeming harder than the last._

_"You! Stop!" someone shouted from behind him. _

_Leon turned, saw a security officer standing a few metres away. Officer Kendall, if he could see the face underneath the plastic face guard of his helmet right. Leon raised the pistol half heartedly, Kendall smiled and raised his baton in response. He was, after all, wearing the standard bulletproof armour that all security officers were issued. _

_The ceiling above them rattled and both men looked up for a split second. One of the tiles jiggled slightly, then fell in, a dozen Radroaches pouring through the hole._

_"Jesus!" Leon exclaimed. He began firing wildly, bug guts spraying wildly across the ground. Kendall roared as the Radroaches launched themselves at him, overwhelming him with sheer force of numbers. His scream was bone chilling and, at first, Leon took a step forward to help him._

_Then he remembered what Amata had said about Jonas. Kendall might not have been as vicious as Mack but he was a damn close second. If Jonas had died during 'interrogation', there was a fair chance Kendall had been involved._

_So Leon turned and headed away as fast as he could, running when he turned the first corner. _

_He became dimly aware of muffled shouts and screams, of the random staccato of gunfire echoing through the formerly peaceful halls. Leon's breath was coming shorter as he ran but he couldn't stop, every noise around him driving him on. He stumbled as he made it to a corner, slumped against the wall, breathing hard._

_"Hey, are you alright...oh..."_

_Leon looked up. Officer Gomez was staring at him, one hand gripping a baton, Radroach guts covering his uniform. Leon swallowed, felt his hand tighten around the pistol grip. Gomez had always been nice to him, but then so had Kendall, and Leon doubted any Radroaches would come along to save him this time._

_Gomez swallowed, eyes flicking down to the gun in Leon's hand, then down the corridor they were in._

_"You've got to go," he said, offering his hand to help Leon up. Leon took it, hesitantly._

_"Were you involved with Jonas?" he asked coldly as he got to his feet. _

_Gomez looked away, clearly saddened. "No," he answered with a weary sigh. "I'm no killer. That's why I'm helping you. Take the stairs further down on the right, that should get you up to the Atrium. I'm sure you know where to go after that."_

_"Why-"_

_"-am I helping you?" Gomez finished. "I don't know...I guess our conscience catches up to all of us one day. Go Leon...go, and I'll forget I saw you."_

_He pushed Leon gently in the direction of the stairs he had talked about and disappeared around a corner without another word._

_Leon stood in stunned silence for a moment before heading slowly to the stairs. He looked back one last time, half expecting Gomez to reappear with several other security officers, all heavily armed. But he didn't. Nobody came. It was just Leon, alone, amongst the halls of his childhood._

* * *

><p>Leon nodded at the guardsmen leaning against the gate leading to Paradise Falls.<p>

His name was Grouse, and he more than lived up to his name. His dark skin matched his dark leather armour that covered his body and he lazily stamped out a cigarette as Leon approached.

"What do you want?" he grumbled, picking up a rifle he had leaning next to his leg, holding it loosely.

"I'm here to see Eulogy," Leon grunted, seeing the man's eyes widen a little at the name.

Leon had heard that Grouse had a problem with Eulogy, that Eulogy had killed Grouse's father to take over Paradise Falls years ago. But, as hard as he tried, he could never quite work that angle.

Grouse's eyes narrowed. "For?"

Leon groaned, loudly. "To buy a slave. Why the hell else would I be in this shit hole?"

Grouse didn't seem convinced. "What do _you_ need with a slave?"

Leon knew what he was implying. As the Lone Wanderer he had gained a reputation as a hero, a saviour to the wastes and all around good guy, not exactly the kind of person that trafficked in slaves. What most failed to mention, however, was the jobs he had done for Paradise Falls, the trail of _good_ people he had left as corpses over the years. He was no hero, and he wished everyone else would just hurry up and figure it out already.

"I'm retired," he answered, letting irritation creep into his voice at the thought of digging up even more memories. "I need a slave to clean my house. Preferably female. Preferably _good looking_."

"Fine," Grouse grumbled, laying his rifle back down against the wall and pulling out another cigarette. "Go in, but pull a weapon, you die."

"Yeah, yeah," Leon said, waving his hand dismissively. "I know the rules."

He strode past the guard, down through the small corridor and then through the gates into the main courtyard of Paradise Falls.

It had changed since he had last been here, years ago. There were more lights, for one, hanging from wires that criss-crossed between the buildings, hung loosely over the courtyard. Slavers nodded to him as he passed, or told him to move along, or told him even more colourful things, but he ignored them all. He did notice that there were more young faces than he remembered, and more faces in general. Had Eulogy been recruiting?

He stopped when he was just in front of Eulogy's house, a huge building that had formerly been a cinema before the war. A large sign with the word 'CINEMA' on it rose over the door, heading straight up the building and reaching towards the sky. Further up, much to Leon's disgust, he could see a cage hanging from a winch, a rotting corpse contained inside, the whole contraption creaking slightly as the wind brushed over it.

Resisting the shiver that ran down his spine, he took a deep breath and strode through the double doors.

The inside had lost much of its appeal over the some 200 years since it was built. The paint, once probably a vibrant white, was now more of a puke cream colour, even peeling in some spots. The ground had a few remains of the red, velvet carpet, but the rest was gone; either pulled up or rotted away.

Eulogy was smiling as Leon entered, wearing his usual faded red suit, a purple shirt underneath. His dark skin stretched tightly over a lithe body. He moved with grace and elegance, a man completely out of his time; he could have stepped into the Old World and nobody would so much as bat an eye.

"Leon! It's been too long," he said happily, a glass of alcohol sloshing gently in his hand. "Care for a drink?"

"It's not that wasteland piss, is it?"

"No, no. I save the best for my special guests," Eulogy answered, producing a bottle of Pre-War rum from behind his back. Leon nodded casually and Eulogy moved over to a small counter, pulling out another glass for Leon, before moving into the next room.

Leon followed, walking into what was clearly Eulogy's bedroom. An over-the-top heart shaped bed dominated the room, its red silk sheets surprisingly clean. There were a few seats scattered around, all bolted to the floor, the remains of the cinema. A few tattered remnants of canvas hung from the far wall. There was also several waist-high book cases filled with various knick-knacks; trinkets, books, lamps, photos and the like.

"Here," Eulogy said, passing the half full glass to Leon. Leon reached for it and realised his hand was shaking. He hadn't had a drink since he had left Megaton 2 days ago and felt mildly ashamed at the desperation he felt staring at the glass of alcohol. It took all of his will power not to down it in one go.

"So, what brings you to Paradise Falls?" Eulogy asked.

"I'm here to buy a slave," Leon answered, taking another sip of his drink.

Eulogy coughed out a small laugh, a smile across his face, but it disappeared when he saw Leon was serious.

"You? Buy a slave? I don't believe it," he scoffed.

"I'm a different man than I used to be," answered Leon absently.

"You made that much clear when you left us last time," Eulogy muttered. "Tell me, what are you looking for?"

"Someone to clean my house."

"A butler?"

"A maid"

"Ah," Eulogy hummed, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, "an attractive one, I assume?"

"Yes," Leon answered, taking another sip of the whiskey. He frowned and looked down at it. There was still half of it left, but it was already starting to sway in his hand.

"A blonde?" Eulogy continued. Leon looked up at him, the frown still on his face. He saw the dark skinned man's alcohol was untouched. "Thought so..." he added, the smile fully formed now.

"What the hell is this?" Leon asked, straining not to slur his words.

"A week ago a few scabs come and sell me an attractive young blonde. I swindle them easily, but they're still grinning like idiots when they leave. A couple of days after that they wind up dead...and in possession of an untouched suit of Power Armour," Eulogy said. He moved across to one of the bookcases, pulled out another glass and bottle, poured himself a new drink and took a mouthful of the dark liquid with a satisfied sigh. "So now you're here, asking for an attractive blonde. You, the Lone Wanderer, trying to buy a sex slave? It doesn't take a genius to put the pieces together."

"You're a business man," Leon started, shaking his head to try and get rid of the growing fuzz around his brain, "and I brought caps. Lots of caps..."

Eulogy laughed, genuinely. "You are right, I _am_ a business man. But I make sure to never let business get in front of being a man," he said. He stepped forward, the smile gone, replaced with a hard scowl. "The way you left last time...I ought to cut you down right now."

"Do it," Leon spat, as defiantly as he could. "Fawkes and Charon are just waiting for an excuse..."

"The super mutant and ghoul? I think not, Leon. I happen to _know_ your little freak show is in DC, along with the rest of their kind. No, you're all alone here, aren't you?"

Leon hawked and spat, his whiskey coloured phlegm landing with a satisfying splat on Eulogy's pristine shoes.

"Then what are you waiting for?" he asked coldly.

Eulogy looked down at his shoes, clucked his tongue disapprovingly, and lashed out with a backhand that sent Leon sprawling to the ground. At the sound of his body hitting the floor, Leon saw a man rush into the room.

He was heavily tanned, with a dull brown moustache that stretched across his upper lip before falling down the sides of his mouth, eventually disappearing under his chin. His head was roughly shaved, stubble having already started growing back, except for the small Mohawk that ran down the middle of his scalp. He gave a menacing look to Leon, still trying to pick himself off the floor, then over to Eulogy, who was shaking his head at the spit still on his shoe.

"Everything alright?" the man grunted.

"Yes, Forty," answered Eulogy dismissively. "Everything is _fine_."

Forty stood there for a moment. He was holding an assault rifle, a filthy, half rusted but still menacing one, in both hands, and his fingers flexed, tightening his grip. He didn't look like he knew whether Eulogy was being serious or sarcastic. After another moment of thinking he shrugged, turned and strode from the room.

Eulogy sighed. "So hard to find good help..." he mused.

"Why?" Leon managed to ask, after finally propping himself up on one arm.

"Why?" Eulogy turned to look at him, a confused look on his face. "Because, Leon, _I just don't fucking like you_. And besides, I already have a buyer for the blonde."

Leon narrowed his eyes, looking as menacing as he could propped up on one arm and lying on the ground.

"You hurt her..." he started.

"What? The Brotherhood will send another washed up drunk after her? Ha!" Eulogy snorted. "No, nothing's going to happen to me Leon. Nothing but a big pay day."

"Then you should kill me now," Leon grunted. "If you're smart."

"I _am_ smart, Leon, I truly am. See, the Brotherhood is one thing; nobody outside of their own cares what happens to one of them. But you? The precious Lone Wanderer? Even in your _pathetic_ state, I imagine your corpse would bring everything with a fucking pulse out looking for my head. No, you'll live. You'll have one hell of a hangover...but I'm guessing you're used to that," Eulogy added with a malicious grin. "Forty!" he called, and the man from before entered again. "Dump this piece of shit in a ditch somewhere," he said, waving his hand dismissively at Leon.

Forty was smiling. "You want me to _deal_ with him?"

"_Deal_ with him? No, I do not want you to fucking _deal_ with him," Eulogy snapped. Forty didn't stop smiling. "I mean it Forty. You better not come back here as Forty-One or you'll _remain_ at forty-one. Got that?"

"Yeah," Forty grunted, the disappointment clearly in his voice.

"I'm coming back," Leon said defiantly.

Eulogy smiled, picked up his glass of whiskey, downed the rest of it in one go and grabbed the bottle to wave in Leon's face. "Bring your own next time then, huh?"

Something hit Leon in the back of the head with a loud crack. Everything went black before he hit the floor.

* * *

><p><em>Leon vaulted up the stairs, taking them two, three and sometimes even four at a time, using his arms to pull himself up the railings that ran along the walls. The walls, several marked with bullet marks, flashed by him in a blur and he quickly ascended the three levels to the Atrium. The sound of gunfire had lessened in frequency, but the higher he got the louder the remaining noise become.<em>

_He reached the closed door leading to the Atrium. His breathing was ragged, his chest heaving in and out as he sucked in deep breath after deep breath. He took a few moments to try and calm himself, to slow his breathing and his rapidly beating heart, and then reached over to push the button next to the door and it hissed open. _

_Right in front of him was a body, lying in a pool of already drying blood. Leon didn't recognize who it was, but they were wearing the traditional Vault 101 full body maintenance uniform, so probably one of the mechanics from the lower level. Leon could see their skin was already pale and a baseball bat lay in the pool of blood, covered with the thick, crimson liquid almost completely on the underside. Leon flexed his fingers around the pistol grip again, half to make sure he wouldn't drop it, half to just make sure it was still there. It had started to feel like it wasn't there at all, as if it were an extension of his body._

_Someone started talking from across the Atrium and Leon ducked back in through the door, crouched down and peered around the edge to see what was happening._

_The Atrium looked like it always had; a large hall, with two balconies above that connected several rooms on the second floor looking down. There weren't any noticeable signs of battle, no bullet marks, no blood stains, except, of course, for the body lying less than a metre in front of Leon._

_Across the hall from him he saw two others Vault dwellers, Tom and Mary Holden, two middle aged Vault residents that lived a few compartments down from Leon and his father. They were hunched over just on the other side of a door across the Atrium from Leon, both wearing Vault overalls, Mary's dark hair brushed to the side, one lock framing the right side of her face._

_Tom was animated and, while he couldn't hear what the man was saying, Leon could see Mary didn't agree with him. Tom waved angrily at his wife, stood and strode out into the Atrium. Mary hissed at him to come back, but he ignored here._

_He was heading to the far wall of the Atrium, where an entrance was being guarded by two security guards, one slightly rounded at the waist, the other tall and wiry. Leon didn't know either of them by name. Both were wearing the standard Vault security armour and each had a pistol in hand._

_"My name is Tom Holden and I demand to be allowed to leave!" Tom shouted loudly at the guards. Neither moved. "I said-"_

_Tom was cut off as the wiry guard fired, the bullet taking him high in the chest. The rounder man fired next, twice, both bullets thudding into Tom's sternum and knocking the man on his back. He gurgled for a moment, air bubbling from the blood pouring out of his mouth, before he stopped. Mary shrieked, a haunting sound that Leon had never since forgotten, and rushed out to be with her husband. She barely made it half way to him before the two guards gunned her down as well._

_She landed heavily, sliding slightly across the floor, and with her last energy reached out her hand towards her husband. She died before reaching him._

_The wiry man suddenly chuckled. "And here I thought we weren't going to have any fun," he said to his companion, who nodded his agreement, adding a slight smile to his face._

_Leon's grip tightened on the pistol, so tight he momentarily thought it would break. His teeth ground, so loud he wondered whether the guards could hear it. His heart was beating rhythmically, slowly, mechanically, a tightness beginning to constrict it. His vision wavered slightly, then it all happened._

_The guards turned around at a noise behind them, a Radroach having crawled out of a vent in the wall to their right._

_"Damn these things," the round one snapped, stepping forward to squash it underneath his foot._

_Leon was on his feet before he realised what was happening. He seemed to fly across the Atrium, above it, detached from his body and the world. He heard himself roar and both guards turned at once. The baseball bat that he must have unconsciously picked up, still covered in blood, flew out of his hand. It wasn't a good throw but, at this distance, it didn't have to be._

_It hit the wiry guard in the face, breaking the plastic visor attached to his helmet and breaking his nose with a crunch, as well as sending shards of plastic into his eyes. He howled and clutched his face, falling to his knees._

_Before he had even hit the ground, Leon's hand shot up, pointing at the round man and he pulled the trigger on his pistol. It bucked once, twice. The first bullet struck the round man in the chest, the armour absorbing most of the damage. The second was higher, the recoil from the first having pushed the barrel upwards, and it sliced through his neck, sending out a spray of blood across the wall behind him. He collapsed against that wall with a surprised gurgle, clutching at his throat in a useless attempt to stop the blood gushing from his wound as he slid to the floor._

_"My eyes!" the wiry one howled, his hands clutching his face. Leon stepped in front of him, his hand lowering until the barrel was in line with the man's skull. His hand bucked once, the bullet entering the man's head and bouncing around the bulletproof helmet, turning his face into a red pulp. He keeled over, dead._

_Leon lowered the pistol slowly, looked around at the bodies, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His heart was still pounding, rhythmically, mechanically. He took another breath, felt the tightness lessen and then he opened his eyes._

_"My god," he whispered. His eyes ran over the two security guards, the round one still gurgling as he died slowly, then down to the pistol in his hands and the blood covering his clothes. "What have I done?"_

_That was the first time Leon ever killed a man. It would not be the last._


	3. Small Things

_**"The only paradise is paradise lost"**_

**-Marcel Proust**

* * *

><p>The first thing Leon felt was pain. It started behind his eyes, a rhythmic throbbing that matched the beating of his heart. A pain that he was more than used to, having spent the last few months either hung-over or drunk. But it wasn't long before he felt the rest; a sharp pain in his forearm, a dull ache at the bottom of one of his legs and a knot in his back that seemed to tie every muscle in his body into a tight, screwed up mess.<p>

He opened one eye, slowly, prepared for the sunlight that would inevitably blind him at first. It did and, for a moment, all he saw was bright white light. It was peaceful.

Then his eyesight adjusted and he saw the Molerat gnawing on his right arm. He grunted, both in pain and surprise, and tried to kick himself away. But his left leg wouldn't work and when he looked down he found another one of the hairless mammals chewing on it. It looked up at him and gave him a low _roaw_ before resuming its feast.

Without another thought his body moved into action, his right leg kicking at the second creature while his left arm tried to beat the first off. Neither succeeded, the Molerats continuing their chewing, undeterred by his weak attempts to get them off. He thought of his pistol, strapped to his right thigh, and realised he wouldn't be able to reach it. But his knife sat on his left hip and he scrambled for it, pulling it out left-handed, blade facing down. He rolled to his right, bringing his left arm down with as much force as he could and drove the knife to the hilt into the creature's skull. It whimpered in surprise then slumped over.

He didn't bother to check it. With his right hand, despite the lance of pain that shot up his arm, he pulled out his pistol and fired. The second creature had looked up at the sound of the first's demise and had enough time to see the muzzle flash before its head disappeared in an explosion of gore. The force of such a close shot rocked it backwards, sending it first onto its ass then onto its back before it stopped and lay still, blood pouring from the gaping wound where its head should have been.

Leon let his body go limp and sighed. His back was still sore, his arm and leg were aching and his head wasn't feeling any better, but at least he wasn't being eaten alive anymore.

_It's the small things_. That's what Sarah would have told him. Be happy with the small things.

He tried to sit up, managed it but was swaying so much he felt he hadn't. The world was tipping, spinning its way around him and he had to lean on his left hand to steady himself. He thought about standing up, took another look at the world doing loops around his head and decided it might be better to get to his knees first.

Using his left arm, he lifted himself up enough to swing his first leg around, then twisted the other so he was on his knees facing forward. He straightened his back, trying to stretch out the knot, sucking in a deep breath of fresh air and almost fell flat on his face again as the world began whirling more violently.

He was sucking in deep, shallow breaths now, his left arm supporting him above the ground. He continued like that, felt the saliva welling in the back of his throat, then vomited. The knot twinged, his arm and head throbbed harder.

_The little things_ said Sarah's voice.

Christ, how he _hated_ the little things.

* * *

><p><em>Leon vomited, the bile mixing with the blood pooling around his feet. He took a look at the two security guards, both dead, both with blood still sliding out of them. He felt another surge of vomit but managed to hold it back, barely.<em>

_He had grown up with stories about heroes; Grognak the Barbarian, Captain America, Dirk Daring, Saint Sylva, all of them good men and all of them killers. He had expected death to be easy and, in a way, it was. That's probably the thing that sickened him the most._

_Not the dead men staring up at him with hollow, lifeless eyes, nor the blood that covered most of the floor, part of the wall and even a little patch on the ceiling, but how easy it had been for him to do it all. _

_He played everything over in his head again. He could remember throwing the bat, shooting the gun, even smiling when the fat man died. But he didn't remember physically doing those things; he had no memory of how the bat felt or how the gun had recoiled. It was like recalling a pictofilm he had watched, only this was from his perspective._

_Another lot of vomit readied itself in his stomach and he turned wildly, looking for a way out. At the end of the hallway stood a door, a simple hunk of metal like almost every other door in the Vault. He rushed over to it, careful to avoid stepping in the pools of blood, and touched the button on the side to open it._

_Nothing happened._

_He pushed it again and this time a voice answered him._

_"CODE 917 IN PROGRESS" the robotic voice told him. "NO PERMITTANCE TO VAULT DOOR WITHOUT AUTHORIZATION FROM THE OVERSEER. ALL UNAUTHORIZED PERSONS ARE TO PROCEED TO THEIR QUARTERS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. CODE 917 IN..." It continued, repeating the same message a second and third time before finally shutting off._

_Leon knew he should have seen this coming. Amata had said he needed to go through the Overseer's office if he was going to get out, and why would he have needed to do that if a lockdown wasn't in place?_

_He sighed and turned back to the blood and bodies. He felt the urge to vomit again just looking at them but he knew he had to go through them, one way or another. And his father had always told him if you need to do something, it's better just to do it._

_So, holding one hand over his mouth, he gingerly made his way through, trying to keep one eye on where his feet were going while avoiding looking at the bodies, blood, puke, or the concoction the last two had made when combined. It was slow going and, when he finally made it back to the Atrium, he vomited again, loudly, gripping the wall for support as his whole body heaved._

_He sucked in a deep, harsh breath, then hawked and spat, trying to get the taste of vomit out of his mouth. It got a little of it out and for that he was grateful._

_He stumbled away, feeling nauseous, and headed towards the door that he knew led to the Overseer's office. He went through it, entering another bright hallway, identical to all the others in the Vault. He continued walking, stumbling, still nauseous, and came across a window._

_A man was pounding his fists against it. His tanned face was stretched tight over an expression of both fear and anger, his red baseball cap sitting snug on his head. _

_Allen Mack. A retired security guard, but he hadn't lost the viciousness he had in his youth and passed to his son. He was bellowing something about being trapped but, when he saw Leon, he stopped and the fear left his face._

_"You!" he said, his handlebar moustache bending as his lips turned into an animal snarl. "Look what your father's done. All of this is your fault, both of you, and you'll get yours you bastards. You hear me!"_

_He was shouting now, right at the top of his voice, but Leon ignored him. It was enough of an effort just to walk, one hand clutching his stomach and another close to his mouth, just in case._

_He rounded a corner and bumped into another security guard, another dark skinned man. Security Chief Hannon, Leon saw. The pair went down on the ground in a surprised heap, then Hannon realised who he had bumped into._

_"You!" he said, trying to get his arm free so he could use his baton._

_Leon held him tightly though and felt the same feeling before begin to creep into his body. The feeling of weightlessness, of having an out of body experience. He saw, through his eyes, his head surge forward, breaking Hannon's nose in a vicious head butt. The man rolled away, clutching at the wound, and Leon got back to his feet, a smile tugging at his lips as he raised the gun at the man's head._

NO!

_Leon screamed it so loud he thought his head would explode, only he realised no words had come out, not even a groan or a whimper. Still, to his relief, he found himself back in control of his body._

_"Just...stay down, all right? I don't want to kill you," he said, waving the gun at the man in what he hoped was a menacing way._

_Hannon spat out some blood and wiped a hand across his bleeding nose. He was staring intently at the barrel of the pistol but, even down on the ground, still looked intimidating to Leon._

_"There'll be hell to pay for this," the man said coldly. "You and your father will rot!"_

_"Fine, just don't move, understand? I'll kill you if I have to and you wouldn't be the first..."_

_"So John and Ben are dead? I heard the shots, figured it was them. That makes you a killer kid, a cold blooded murderer. We're going to string you up from the rafters and listen to the rope creak while you swing. You hear me? You hear me?"_

_The man was yelling down the corridor now, but Leon had already left. There was no point in staying, he knew, and if he stayed any longer he was liable to just hand himself over. Because Hannon was right; he was a killer now. A cold blooded murderer. _

_And he deserved to hang for it._

_He made it around the next corner and froze. A window opened up into the room ahead and, inside, Amata sat on a chair, staring further off into the room._

_"Amata?" Leon whispered._

_"Where is he?" came the Overseer's voice. It was muffled and while Leon couldn't see him, he knew the man was in the room as well. "Come now dear, you're a good girl, aren't you?"_

_"But Leon didn't do anything," she answered, exasperated. "He's not a bad person..."_

_"Damn it Amata, this is not the time for your childish crushes!" the Overseer snapped. "Tell me where he is or where he's going. We know you helped him."_

_"No Dad, I won't. This is wrong, all of it!" she shouted and, through the glass, Leon could see tears welling at the corners of her eyes._

_There was a moment of silence before the Overseer's voice returned._

_"Fine," he said, a hint of sadness in his voice. "Mack, get it out of her."_

_"With pleasure," Mack answered and Leon could just imagine the sadistic grin on the man's face. He saw the man step into view, advancing on Amata. He was wearing the standard Vault security uniform; blue shirt and pants under a black bulletproof vest. His brown hair was cut short, almost to the scalp, and he held his baton loosely and with practiced grace._

_Leon again felt the weightlessness, the feeling of losing control. Only this time, he didn't care. He knew he could avoid the whole situation, knew that if he wanted to get out his best chance was to leave now while the Overseer and his right hand man were busy. But he couldn't leave her like that. So he gave into whatever beast was inside him, clawing at his insides to be let free, and watched as his vision clouded with red._

_He moved towards the door to the room and opened it. The thick metal slid upwards with a hiss and, when he entered, both men turned to look at him; the older, dark skinned Overseer and the younger Steve Mack, a sadistic smile on his face, just like Leon had expected._

_"Well, all this time spent looking for you and you show up here anyway," the Overseer said happily. "Mack, call off the alarm, tell them we've got him. Now Leon, we're going to have a little talk..."_

_He trailed off as he saw the pistol in Leon's hand. "And what, I wonder, do you plan to do with that?" he asked. _

_Mack, who had been striding over to an intercom on the far wall, turned and saw the pistol as well. He instantly went into a crouch, ready to pounce, baton in hand and his eyes wary._

_"You'll see," Leon said with a smile of his own. He reached over to the door controls and pushed the button to close it._

* * *

><p>Leon was able to sit up without feeling nauseous now, the worst of his sickness over. His pack had been left a few feet from him and, while a lot of the contents were strewn haphazardly around it, he was relieved to find that most were still there. His medical supplies, ammunition, food, all of it had been left. Most of his caps were gone but he didn't care about them. With diplomacy having failed he didn't really need them anymore.<p>

The first thing he did was take a good look at his wounds. He had known his arm would be bad. It hurt a lot more than the bite on his leg, the Molerat having chewed right through his thick leather duster. It was still throbbing, even now, so he sprayed some antiseptic liquid on it and bandaged it as carefully as he could. He hoped that would be enough, but doubted it. Only time would tell for sure, but he had a feeling that Molerat had given him more than a bite; maybe a simple wasteland infection or, worse, the Rot. Still, there was nothing he could do about it now so he turned his attention to his leg.

Like he had suspected this wound wasn't anywhere near as bad. The second Molerat had barely broken through his pants and most of the damage looked barely skin deep. He still gave it a spray of antiseptic though and then wrapped it tightly. It stung to walk on, and the antiseptic was stinging both his wounds now, but it would do.

He found his rifle next, lying amongst a scattering of rocks. He was surprised initially to find it, assuming the slavers would have taken it. He was so surprised he didn't believe it was his at first and only after he had stripped it down and rebuilt it twice did he accept that it was and that nothing was wrong with it. A few shells had been fired from it and the bolt had several scratches on it, meaning whoever had fired it last had been overly rough with it, but it still worked. If he had to guess, he would say they wanted it to look like he had fought and lost against whatever ended up eating him.

_Smart,_ he thought with a kind of begrudging respect.

He reloaded both his weapons, slung his pack over his back, ate a few strips of jerked beef that had been left in his pack and then, after checking the map on his Pip-Boy, began walking back towards Paradise Falls.

His mind strayed to the last thing Eulogy had said; _And besides, I've already got a buyer for the blonde _came the man's suave voice.

Leon started walking faster.

* * *

><p><em>The door shut with a louder than usual clang behind Leon, but none of the men jumped. They stayed as they were, Mack and the Overseer looking at Leon, Leon's eyes flicking from one to the other. After a moment of silence the Overseer sighed loudly.<em>

_"Enough of this," he said, sounding almost bored. "Mack, get that pistol off him."_

_Leon turned and saw Mack stepping towards him. He didn't hesitate; the pistol rose and fired, the bullet entering Mack's head somewhere around the nose and covering the wall and the intercom behind him with his brains. His legs crumpled and his body crashed to the floor with a _thud_._

_Amata shrieked and the Overseer gasped with genuine surprise, his eyes wide as they took in the body of his dead enforcer. He turned to look back at Leon, who had his arm back down against his side now._

_"What have you done?" he asked softly._

_"What I had to," Leon said coldly. "Amata, let's go."_

_"No, you can't..." the Overseer began._

_"You were going to torture your own daughter!" Leon hissed, taking a step towards the Overseer who backed away from the man almost half his age._

_Leon felt something touch his arm, looked down and saw it was Amata's arm._

_"Come on Leon, let's go," she said sadly, her eyes looking with disgust at her father. "He's not worth it..."_

_"You don't know what you're doing," the Overseer shouted. "You'll kill us all!"_

_An image of Jonas flashed through Leon's mind._

_"No, just you," Leon said coldly. Before he could help himself he felt the muscles in his arm bunching, pulling themselves up so the pistol was level with the other man. The Overseer stepped back, covering himself with his hand._

_"No Leon!" Amata screamed. Leon hesitated, her voice cutting through the haze of red. The gun still went off, bucking hard against his hand, but it was pointed down. The bullet hit the Overseer in the leg, shattering his knee and sending him toppling to the floor with a roar of pain._

_"My leg!" he bellowed. "Oh god, my LEG!"_

_"Leon, what have you done?" Amata shrieked. _

_Leon turned and stared at her dumbly. He felt like he had just woken up from a dream and was still shaking the sleep off. He looked down at the pistol that suddenly weighed a thousand tons in his hand, then at her pained face as she was looking at her father writhing on the floor in pain and felt nothing but confusion._

_"Come...come on," she said after a moment. "We've got to go..."_

_She grabbed him and half led, half dragged him from the room. He saw out of the corner of his eye that she took one long last look at her father before joining him._

_The Overseer's office was only down the hall. The alarms were barely audible in the well furnished room and Leon moved quickly towards the circular desk that sat in the middle. There was a computer on top of it and he turned it on, sitting in the roller chair as he did._

_"What's the password?" he asked Amata._

_"Uh...I don't know."_

_"What? You're kidding?"_

_"No I'm not," she snapped. "Why the hell would he have given me access to his computer?"_

_"Uh," Leon managed, caught off guard by her anger. "You're his daughter?"_

_She huffed angrily and walked over to a bookcase set against one of the walls. It was filled from floor to ceiling with thick white folders. She ran her hands along them and then picked one out, flicking through it. _

_"I'll look through these, maybe he left a clue for it somewhere. You try some passwords and see if they work."_

_"Like what?"_

_"Like anything," she answered._

_He sighed and turned his attention to the computer. He typed in "Amata" and got a try again message. He tried "Vault 101" but that didn't work either. He looked across the desk and saw a Grognak comic lying open under some paper, so he typed that in and, not surprisingly, that wasn't it either. And now the computer was telling him it would lockdown if he failed again._

_It was then that he noticed a small line of text at the bottom of the screen. It said "F2: System". He pressed the F2 button and the normal screen was replaced by lines of code. He was skimming through some of it when he realised that he recognised some of it._

_Jonas had been teaching him basic computer skills for years now and he could see chunks of the code he recognised; one that dealt with the colour of the screen, another that determined the size of the password input button. He kept skimming until he found something referencing the password._

_He didn't understand it completely as most of the code was above his head, but he did recognise one line; checkPASSWORD(TRUE/FALSE). That one, if he was right, checked the password given against the actual password._

_He grabbed the mouse and highlighted it then moved his finger to the "DELETE" button, but didn't press it. He had no idea what deleting that code might do. It could lock him out permanently, it could even crash the entire computer._

_He closed his eyes and pushed down. When he opened his eyes again the screen had returned to its initial look and asked him to input the password again, just like before. He sighed and, frustrated, pressed "ENTER" on a whim. The computer thanked him and went to its main menu._

_"Amata?"_

_"Yeah?"_

_"I think...I think I got it," he said, still not believing it. She dropped the folder in her hands and rushed over to him, unable to hide the surprise on her face._

_"Leon, how did you..." she started, then shook her head. "It doesn't matter. There, that opens the way through to the Vault door."_

_Leon grabbed the mouse and clicked on what she was pointing at, a small line that said "OPEN OVERSEER'S TUNNEL". There was a loud hissing sound from beneath him and both of them backed away from the computer. The floor began to shake slightly before the metal around the desk pulled away. The desk itself began to rise, pistons groaning under the weight, and Leon could clearly see a set of stairs leading down. _

_"Come on," Amata said, grabbing him by the hand and leading him down the stairs. "We're almost there."_

* * *

><p>Leon had seen the smoke almost two hours ago and feared the worst. But he hadn't even considered <em>this<em>.

Paradise Falls was little more than smoking ruin. The wall around it seemed to be fine, but several of the buildings were on fire and the rest had burnt out a while ago. He un-slung his rifle from his shoulder and made his way through the gate. There was no guard and no body, just a small pile of ash next to an assault rifle and a burnt out cigarette. The wind picked up a little as Leon passed and the ash was blown further into the compound. He moved inside, careful to check for anything dangerous.

There were no bodies here either, just more piles of ash alongside guns and spent ammunition. The lights that had crisscrossed above were now all lying on the ground, the buildings they were attached to long gone. There were clear signs of battle; bullet holes pock marking several of the building walls, a couple of circular burn marks on an upturned table. Leon made his way over to one of the piles of ash, knelt down and brushed some away with his hand. A tuft of hair stood up, dark orange in colour, and another brush revealed a couple of teeth.

He sighed and looked around the compound again. He moved on, looking for bodies, but there were none. He found what he thought was Eulogy, although there was no way to be sure, a scrap of red velvet wasn't exactly a perfect way to identify someone, and he recognised the rusted machine gun next to another ash pile, but apart from that it was all the same; ash was ash.

He eventually found the slave pen and almost collapsed. Several more piles of ash were dotted around the fenced enclosure and Leon hurried inside, almost stumbling as he brushed at them, looking for anything that might indicate Sarah; blonde hair, Brotherhood tags, anything. He hoped he wouldn't find anything but had the sick feeling that he would, that the next pile would have blonde hair in it, or the one after that.

But none of them did. He did, however, find the first full body since he had entered Paradise Falls.

The man had been a slave, judging by the rags he wore and his mud covered skin. He was lying face down in the door of the small shed that served as the slaves' quarters and, after a quick check inside that revealed nothing, Leon knelt down next to the man.

Rolling him over revealed a harsh burn in his chest. Leon felt it with his fingers, moved the skin a little, could just make out the small hole that was the actual wound and not just the burnt skin around it. He wiped his fingers clean against the man's rags and stood up. A laser wound, Leon had seen enough in his time to be sure.

His first thought was the Brotherhood, but that didn't make sense. It was certainly the kind of message Leon knew they would like to send the slavers in the region, but if they could do this Lyons would never have sent for him in the first place. Besides, a quick glance at the tracks showed none that could be the deep impressions of a Power Armour boot.

Kneeling down, he took a closer look at what tracks there were. There wasn't much to look at; most of the tracks blended into each other, and the loose topsoil didn't help either. But the signs were still there, if you knew where to look.

And Leon did.

He moved around the compound, following what tracks he could, slowly developing an idea of what had happened. He double, then triple checked what he had found.

"One man?" he whispered. "No, it...it can't..."

_You've stepped into something big, my boy_, came his father's voice from the back of his mind.

Leon sighed and began to look around again. He hoped, _prayed_, there was a bottle of liquor left whole in this place. He really needed a drink.

* * *

><p><em>Leon and Amata ran down the narrow concrete tunnel, Amata still leading them. It was cramped, the space barely six feet high, the walls narrow. It was shorter than he expected and it wasn't long before they reached the end, the tunnel opening into a small room with computers lining walls to either side of them and a door in front of them.<em>

_"Come on," she said, moving towards it._

_"How do you know about this stuff?" he asked her._

_"Dad had me run through this place a few times, just in case," she answered with a shrug._

_"But he didn't give you the password to get in?"_

_She paused. "No...I don't know, he's a control freak. You know how he is."_

_Leon nodded. After today, he knew exactly what that bastard was like._

_She reached over to a button on the side of the door and pushed it, the door sliding upwards with a hiss of air. Ahead of them was the Vault entrance; the large, cog shaped door to their left, currently closed; the regular door to their right that led further into the Vault. Directly in front of them was a set of stairs, railings on either side, and past that sat a console. Amata moved over to it._

_"Uh...I think it's this one," he heard her say, then watched as she pulled a level down on the console._

_Alarms started blaring, yellow flashing lights coming on. There was a loud metallic scrapping sound as a large tube shaped object descended from the ceiling, then extended towards the cog-door. The scraping stopped as the object locked into place on the door, then the scraping sound returned, louder than before, as the tube pulled the cog-door back and then rolled it to the side._

_Outside was a small cave, the walls slick with dew, and at the end a small wooden door, light peering in through the cracks._

_"Good work," Leon said happily. "Now let's go before they catch up..."_

_"I'm not going," Amata said._

_"What?"_

_"You heard me."_

_"Why?"_

_"I think you know why..."_

_"Your father?" he asked unbelievingly. "Amata, he was willing to _torture_ you. Do you get that?"_

_"Of course I do," she snapped. "But he needs me now. Now he's a _cripple_!" Her eyes were blazing, the anger from her father's office returned in full force._

_"So this is it then, is it?" he asked softly._

_She sighed. "It's not just him. They all need me, everyone in the Vault, especially after today. And...it's home. I can't just leave it behind."_

_"And I can?" he asked angrily._

_"I'm sorry about everything," she said, her turn to speak softly. "But yeah, you have to go. And Leon, you can't come back...ever"_

_He felt his jaw tighten, his eyes narrowing as he looked at her. She kept his gaze for a few seconds, then had to turn away, looking at the floor, the ceiling, the door back to the Vault, anywhere but him._

_"Fine. Goodbye Amata," he said coldly. "I hope you all kill each other."_

_"Wait, Leon-" she started, but she was cut off as the door behind her hissed open, several security guards stepping through._

_"There he is, stop him!" one of them shouted and several started shooting._

_Leon stumbled back, mostly surprised, hit the railing and went over it, crashing onto the floor next to the cog-door. He heard Amata screaming for them to stop, then just screaming, but it didn't register in his brain. It had gone back into survival mode, like it had before, with the security guards in the Atrium and then again with Mack and the Overseer._

_He scrambled to his feet and rushed for that wooden door. The guards were still firing and he heard the bullets zinging overhead, even felt a few as they passed near him. He was running as hard as he could towards that door and, even if he had wanted too, couldn't stop._

_He crashed through it, breaking it off its hinges and tumbling out into the world beyond. He was blinded by the light, brighter than he had ever seen in the Vault._

_After a few moments his eyes adjusted and he got to his feet. His shoulder hurt from hitting the door, as did most of the rest of him, sore from all the running and fighting he had done in the last hour or so. He heard the scraping sound behind him as the Vault door was closed but didn't care. That part of his life was done with, he knew that. And as he took in the landscape around him, the rugged, barren wasteland and the ruined city far off in the distance, only one thought found its way into his head;_

_He had to find his father._


End file.
